Step. Tap. Breathe.

Atlas settled into the rhythm, trying to find a pace that didn’t aggravate his wounds as he limped through the woods. The tapping of his scythe handle against the stony path carried out into the dull silence of the trees.

There wasn’t one. Even the slowest of walks triggered dull aches throughout his body that his Aegis couldn’t quite suppress, though it was certainly trying. His red bar was well below half now. Even his mana bar was starting to dwindle from the constant regeneration.

Step. Tap. Breathe.

So instead Atlas moved as fast as he could manage, which was still slow enough to leave him wondering if the path hadn’t grown while he slept. Twice as long and half as full? Apart from the quiet, even the foliage and bushes looked less dense, the canopy allowing spots of orange sky through leafless gaps above.

Not a bad thing for him, at least. He was in no fit state to fend off a pack of lagomorphs, let alone anything larger. Even that silver antlered deer could probably finish him off if that wind ball warning shot hit him in his damaged state.

Step. Tap. Breathe.

The signpost. Atlas grimly approached, halting before it to stare at the weathered wood for the second time that day, his feelings even more troubled than before.

If only he’d told them.

If only he’d realised how they saw him.

If only he’d known to look for the cash box before.

If only he hadn’t fallen asleep.

A hundred thoughts fought down from his head to his stomach, pooling together in a wave of nausea that had him dry heaving, trying to purge his empty guts of all the guilt and misery that festered there.

But nothing came. Apparently both were there to stay. A few minutes later Atlas straightened, needlessly wiping his mouth with the back of his gauntlet, and continued on his way.

Step. Tap. Breathe.

Whether his speed or his direction, there was something distinctly unfamiliar about the once overgrown path he walked. In some places even the bark has been stripped away from the trees. Deep gouges marked the wood beneath, as though heavy claws, or tusks, had torn into them.

Atlas tightened his grip on his scythe as he peered between empty boughs to nothing more than barren trees beyond. At this point even a few of the predatory bunnies would have been less disconcerting.

Step. Tap. Breathe.

Moan.

Atlas froze.

That wasn’t him.

The offending sound, soft as it was, carried clearly through the hushed forest. Atlas crept forward as best he could, holding his own ragged breathing as he went. His one handed grip on his scythe was tight enough that his knuckles would have been white even if he’d had a complexion to speak of.

Which was weird, now he thought of it. Wasn’t skin pink because there was blood under it? And he certainly had plenty of-

Focus. Atlas blinked away the rogue thought, ears straining through the silence.

There, in the leaf spattered dirt. A spot where the surface had been scuffed. Black feathers plastered into the mud. A trail slightly darker than its surroundings. Atlas breathed out, slow, soft. It tickled his throat and he bit down on a cough, heart hammering in protest as he followed the signs and the sound off the path.

Another wordless moan, low and strained, came from the thick scrub beside the road, a strip of black fluttered caught in the branches. Atlas crept forward, cautiously peering between the leaves, his whole body tensed ready to pounce or flee.

Two brown eyes stared back.

“Wilds, kid. You scared - ngh!! - the life out of me.”

“Kleis?”

The big man, skin clammy and almost as pale as Atlas’, lay in the mud beneath the brush, a bloodstained hand clamped over his stomach in a vain attempt to keep what remained of his innards in place. Atlas winced.

“Yeah, ‘s me. Good to see someone... made it out.” He grunted. “Even if you do look like a jester.”

Atlas frowned, crouching down with painful slowness. “How did you get out here?”

“Same way... you did.” Kleis waved his free hand. “Saw my chance and ran. Thought I was clear but…” He trailed off, squeezing his eyes shut against either the memory or the pain. “Barely managed to get away after one got me… Well, guess I didn’t.”

So Kleis had fled, abandoning the farm and all its occupants to their fate, only to find himself an equally grisly one here in the woods.

Atlas’s frown deepened..

He wasn’t sure if he was angry. He’d considered the option himself after all. It was rational. But a very irrational, very insistent part of his brain was busily making its case that he should be angry, tempered only by the guilt that he’d accomplished exactly as much for Phineus as Kleis had, and suffered a far less terrible fate doing so. Even if this world had the tech necessary to repair the damaged organs he could see poking between the man’s fingers, it was hardly available in an abandoned forest.

“... Hold still.” Atlas pressed the end of his scythe into the earth and looped his arm over it, leaning heavily against it as he lifted his arm from his doublet and tapped the scan button. The green beam flashed over the wounded man.

OPEN CODE GRID Y/N?

He tapped the button once more and the blue bar on his screen began to dwindle. Kleis snorted, laying his head back against the main trunk of his bush shelter.

“Still playing with that toy of yours I see.”

Atlas ignored him, staring grimly at his dwindling MP bar as though he could will it not to zero out. With his body in its current state it wasn’t likely he’d get another chance if it failed, let alone the consequences to his own aegis with the regeneration rate reduced to minimum.

10%, the code grid opened, revealing a much plainer screen than Mrs Damastes’ had been, simply a single square with the Craven code at its centre, the bars for changing appearance…

Nothing. There was no apparently no “broken” code for people he could simply replace.

Atlas switched the Craven code for Sincerity and changed the big man’s torso to that of some unknown labourer scanned from the day before.

SAVING

He held his breath.

SAVED

In a moment Kleis’ body warped and twisted into its new shape, its owner apparently unaware as muscles shrank and elongated, shirt rippling at the changes beneath.

But the gaping wound remained constant, bobbing around on warping flesh like a boat on the surface of the ocean before settling, seemingly neither improved nor worsened by the drastic change to Kleis’ body.

Not that it could have got much worse. Atlas sighed, carefully threading his arm back into the makeshift sling of his doublet.

“I’m sorry, Kleis. There’s nothing I can do for you.”

“Yeah, I know.” Kleis didn’t open his eyes. “Could have saved you some time if you’d asked.”

“Sorry.” Atlas made a face.

“You already said that.” Kleis grunted. “Listen, kid. I know you’re probably scared right now, but you need to... pay attention to what I’m about to tell you, alright?”

“A-alright.”

“Don’t go back.”

“What?” Atlas raised his eyebrows, surprised.

The once big man’s entire body shuddered as he pushed his head forward, staring Atlas in the eye.

“Don’t go back to the farm, and don’t go back west. The ones that followed me flew west when they left.”

Atlas gasped. “They’re headed for the village?”

“Don’t try to be... a hero. Go south along this path. Get to... Helos, they’ll take you in.”

Atlas bit the inside of his cheek. “Thank you for telling me.”

Kleis grunted, letting his head smack back against the trunk once more. “One last thing.”

“Yes?”

“I’m not going to… go quick, kid. I’d appreciate it if you could spare something to make it a bit… easier for me.”

“... Alright.” Atlas nodded, sick to his stomach as he raised his bracer to his face, tapping through menus. A minute later the scythe disappeared. He yelped as he unwittingly grabbed its replacement even as he moved to swap hands. “Here. It’s… your decision.”

TOOL LOST

[Plundered Kitchen Knife]

LAUNCHED

The blade sank into the earth beside Kleis. He coiled pale fingers around it and nodded gravely.

“Thanks, kid. And remember… what I told you. Don’t try to be a hero. Just go. Get yourself safe. It’s what Phin… it’s what everybody would have wanted.”

“... Goodbye, Kleis.”

Atlas leaned back, rematerialising his scythe and forcing himself to stand. The turmoil inside was much worse than before as he carried on his way, trying hard not to hear the soft moans of pain fade behind him. Trying hard not to listen when they stopped and everything went still.

Step. Tap. Breathe.

He’d thought he’d avenged them. Thought he’d stopped anyone else getting hurt. Now he found that the only other people he knew and cared about had either met the same fate or were about to.

And to pile cruelty on top of cruelty, if he hadn’t sacrificed himself to wipe out the erinyes that had attacked the farm then he might have been able to help the people of New Astros. There was no way he could walk all the way there now, even if he doubled back and took the short path.

And what could he do now even if he made it? He couldn’t even use both hands, and it wasn’t as though there was a handy flour mill he could use this time around. Perhaps if he hurried he might arrive just in time to see the last survivors eaten once more?

Step. Tap. Breathe.

He felt no particular excitement when he reached the ruined wagon. Too numb. Too wrapped up safely away from his feelings, especially the second hand feelings that screamed from the back of his mind. Even the discovery of a small silver inlaid lockbox beneath its vertical wooden floor barely registered. He replaced its silver code with one of his broken codes in a moment, his diminished mana bar finally dropping to zero as he vacuumed its contents, including two more golden talents, from the dirt at his feet.

Kleis was right. He shouldn’t try to be a hero. He should just head back to the Charon and focus on making it to the city and trying to find out what his bracers were counting down to, try and find out who he was, not go trudging through the woods to throw his life away for people who were probably already dead.

But…

Atlas started back the way he came, retracing his haphazard footsteps through the silent wood.

He already had some idea of who he was by now, didn’t he?

Atlas collected his knife on his way back.

He was going to need it.